The number "44" was all that remained of a shredded Louisiana Lottery billboard along the expressway.

At the Kentwood water distributorship, plastic crates were still stacked neatly in the back of open tractor-trailers; the Kentwood marquee was toppled. Winds had wrenched the Superdome/Claiborne exit sign into a fresh angle.

A man wearing socks but no shoes claimed to have walked from Kenner to the Pontchartrain Expressway in front of The Times-Picayune. Firemen in a passing pick-up shooed him off the highway.

Four Crescent City Connection police officers blockaded the expressway near the Dome, turning away the few civilian vehicles. They, too, wondered about the scope of the destruction.

By 6 p.m. on Monday, looters had shifted to heavy lifting. Young men exited the Coleman's clothing store on Earhart Boulevard, struggling under the weight of fully laden cardboard boxes and plastic bags.

When flashing lights appeared in the distance, a man in an orange jersey shouted "Police!, " and dropped his box in Earhart's lake-bound lane. He splashed across the opposite lane, tripped and fell in knee-deep water, then ran toward the B.W. Cooper housing development.

As the sun set, four young women slipped out of the Magnolia Discount convenience store on South Carrollton Avenue and loaded pilfered boxes into a waiting car. One woman waved at approaching vehicles.

Downed trees completely blocked both sides of South Galvez Street at the entrance to B.W. Cooper. Toppled palm trees littered the neutral ground on Earhart, which was flooded near Carrollton but mostly dry at Galvez.

The smell of natural gas wafted across Thalia Street at South Claiborne. A succession of power poles stood at 45-degree angles.

Many homes and businesses along South Claiborne lost roofing tiles and shingles, but otherwise appeared undamaged. Destruction was arbitrary. The sign at the Rally's franchise was destroyed; that of the nearby Burger Orleans was not.

Blown off its pedestal, the oversize Frosty Top mug at Calhoun stood on its head.
Much of South Claiborne had drained hours after Katrina passed. Cross-streets did not fare as well. At State Street, a newly formed creek flowed across the Claiborne neutral ground. More water gurgled from manhole covers.

The intersection of Napoleon and South Claiborne was dry, but water and downed tree limbs carpeted both Versailles and Audubon boulevards. At Carrollton and Claiborne, the Chase bank drive-thru was inundated.

Across the intersection, broad sheets of roofing paper and black tiles draped an oak tree like a shroud.

Many residents of the Pigeontown neighborhood opted not to evacuate. After the rain and wind subsided, they gathered on porches or waded through the flooded streets. A power line swung five feet above the water on Dublin Street.

Gentle waves lapped at the sandbags guarding the entrance of Five Happiness Chinese restaurant on South Carrollton Avenue. The blue arch across the entrance of Fontainebleau Drive survived the storm. Water flooded both sides of the street, but appeared not to have reached cars on the neutral ground, or homes.

At least 10 feet of water filled Carrollton's dip under the interstate. A waist-deep lagoon swamped the intersection at Tulane.

As the sun set, the faint smell of rot drifted up from the water.

Tom Roche, owner of the Elms Mansion reception hall on St. Charles Avenue, bicycled above the flooded Carrollton exchange on the interstate. He and his three sons rode out Katrina on the sixth floor of Baptist Memorial hospital, where his wife works as a nurse.

"She convinced me to stay at the hospital, " he said. "I usually stay at the Elms."

Earlier in the afternoon, Roche was relieved to find his business largely intact. "It was fine, " he said. "We boarded it up well. There was a little roof damage, a little water in the basement, but no structural damage."

With his black suit pants tucked into a pair of wading boots, 74-year-old Charles Smith stood at the corner of Belfast Street and South Carrollton. In generally good spirits, he was on a mission: To find a pack of cigarettes.

The storm had tumbled a pecan tree into his home at Apple and Dublin. "The tree messed my whole house up, " he said. "I got insurance, though."
He looked down the debris-strewn street.